Mrs. Shoebox and I enjoy an occasional glass or two of wine, and we tend to gravitate toward the sweeter stuff, which I’ve been told marks us as amateurs (I was actually informed of this at a wine tasting, to which I responded in a pouty voice “But I wanna be a snob NOOWWWWWW!”)  And we had to discover the hard loud pukey way that port wines are NOT meant to be aged for six months in a living room.  So I am definitely not a wine snob.

I am, however, a moderate music snob, probably a class 3 or so.  I’m an obsessive liner-note reader, I like a lot of punk, metal, and indie stuff, I eschew most commercial radio, I cling to physical media like it’s the last hope, I can play the musical version of the “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” game with Jim Steinman, Ric Ocasek, or Brian Wilson, I’m in a band, and I used to write music reviews for a zine in Syracuse, during which time at one point I put a Windows 98 CD in my CD player, cranked it, and wrote a review slamming it as unlistenable rhythmless noise and recommending it to fans of Blonde Redhead.

…Okay, maybe a class 4.

Anyway, sorry this one’s a bit late.  There’s probably a joke I could make here about it needing to breathe or something, but again, not a wine snob.